The Wandering Soul

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The Wandering Soul

He was so young,
When he left home.
Forced to work,
And forever roam.

From town to town,
The young man Lived,
Never to discover,
What he did.

He lives in a world,
That is all his own,
No one may enter,
He likes it alone.

On a rainy night,
He lost his life,
A fellow traveler,
Used a blunted knife.

Forever free now,
His sprit does comb,
Looking for love,
And warm place to call home.

©Cleve Sylcox

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